


Home And Dry

by ladyofdecember



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Best Friends, College, Drama, Dysfunctional Family, Falling In Love, Family, Family Drama, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Post Reichenbach, Romance, Roommates, University
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-02-22
Packaged: 2017-11-25 18:38:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/641809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofdecember/pseuds/ladyofdecember
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Reichenbach. Harry & Sherlock get into a row with John right in the middle of it. Johnlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.
> 
> I apologize if my "Britishisms" are weird or seem out of place. I'm learning the best I can simple phrases and mannerisms used but as I'm American a lot of it seems to be over my head. :) Please let me know if I use any slang incorrectly or if any part sounds weird.

Harry and Sherlock had never really been 'best mates' or gotten along but ever since Sherlock's stunt of of jumping off a building and disappearing for 3 years the two had really been hostile towards one another. John of course was being placed right in the middle of the battlefield.

“You don't deserve my brother.” Harry spat at the detective, her voice dropping an octave or two from it's usual register. “What you did was terrible...”

“Harry...” John scolded from his place against the wall near the kitchen. He had been hanging back in an effort to try to stay out of the bickering but like always he was being pulled back in.

There was a coldness that swirled in Sherlock's deep blue eyes, a sudden change in them and then it was gone. His lips twitched to form a sort of smirk as his mind had seemed to work something out. “Do you really think you of all people should be reprimanding someone? How is Clara?”

Harriet stepped back a few paces brushing her long chestnut hair back from her face. She'd lost all of her bite with that comment and her face showed it. The ache and distress danced across her features. She licked her lips before turning sharply and walking away from the tall man.

Sherlock smirked to himself, clearly he had won the argument. He was quite proud of himself for that one. John's face came into view once Harry's figure had retreated and he could see it was full of reprehension. It caused Sherlock's smile to disappear completely and he was left feeling very rueful.

John glared at the man but it wasn't one of those playful glares he was used to seeing back before his... departure. No, this was an almost hateful and menacing glare. The doctor shoved past him going after his sister probably to make sure she was alright.

Sherlock was left alone in the living room with his thoughts. He frowned remorseful that he had angered John but truly he couldn't have let Harry get away with that. Who was she? Mother Superior? Truly, she loved playing the part nevertheless she always came up lacking no matter how hard she tried. And really, all of this was none of her business. He wouldn't have anyone coming in here and trying to tell him or John how to live their lives.

He heard the two speaking diligently in the hallway just outside the living room door. They'd probably be heading out soon to dinner or something... anything to get away from Sherlock, no doubt. He strolled over to the window and grasped his violin. Deciding to play a soft and lulling tune he let his gaze wander out the window and down towards the street as he played.

John and Harry were heading up the stairs to John's bedroom to speak more discreetly. The violin's sounds filtered up the stairs behind them and the doctor sighed. He wasn't sure what he feeling in that moment... anger? Tribulation? His emotions had been all over the map lately.

Shutting the door behind them John turned to see Harry already sitting on the edge of his bed in quiet contemplation. Her hazel eyes stared intently at one of the baseboards near the floor. He couldn't help but frown at her.

A long time passed between them as the silence seemed to be deafening in the room. Although, faintly you could still hear the sounds of Sherlock's violin being played.

“I don't think it's healthy for you to continue to be with him. I think you should end it.”

Harry's voice seemed to have come out of nowhere and it slightly startled John when she had began speaking. Her words however had startled him all the more.

“What?! No... uh, no...” he chuckled uncomfortably. “What makes you think that we're together?” 

He peered down at her bemusedly. 

His sister lifted her eyes slowly and met his gaze with a look that screamed 'are you being serious right now?'.

John shifted under her gaze from one foot to the other and then opted to simply lean against the bedroom wall. “Look, I'm... I'm angry with him too. You have no idea how much. The man... he's...”

He frowned unable to get his words out quite right and felt a burning beginning to build within him. All of the hostility that had been swirling inside of him the last few weeks was starting to seep out of him and he feared he would be unable to keep it inside much longer.

“He takes off for 3 years and he comes back and he says it was for the greater good and he was... he was doing me a favor.” John laughed bitterly strolling towards the window to peer out in an effort to hold back the floodgates of his emotions but it was simply too late. 

He began to move all around the small room wildly waving his hands in a spectacle type way.

“All I know is that I... I can't forgive him. I can't, Harry. He has done so much... he's hurt people... Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade... and... and me...”

John trailed off quietly in anguish as he felt tears begin to prick at his eyes. He turned away from her and faced one of the walls which were wallpapered with some sort of design Mrs. Hudson probably loved. He had never bothered redecorating his room after moving in and it had been so many years now. Why was that he wondered?

Harry was still as she sat on the edge of her brother's bed completely unmoving. She was feeling a lot of things at the moment but most of all right then she felt the need to cause severe misery to that man downstairs. She hated him she decided. She did. She had always tried to just get along with the man for John's sake. She'd held her tongue when she could around him, when she wasn't inebriated and therefore incapable of doing so. She dealt with the detective's criticisms of her and... Clara. She didn't mind so much having to put up with it all because she knew that he made John happy. Her brother was the only family she had left in this world and she only wanted what was best for him.

But seeing now just how truly broken the man had become had really pushed her over the edge. She stood up and grasped at his shoulders gently turning him to face her. He really was a wreck. Tears had streamed down his face causing a ruddy complexion on his skin. She noted with interest that the violin music had ceased from down below and she wondered if the detective was now 'listening in' to their conversation and trying to deduce something. No matter, they wouldn't be staying much longer anyway.

“Hey! Let's go out, my treat, yeah? We can get some Chinese.” she smiled at him trying to inspire some sort of positivity in his down trodden spirit.

John blinked at her for a moment before scrubbing at his face wearily. He was so bloody tired. Not physically but emotionally... spiritually. “Sure... yeah, that sounds bloody great. I'm starved.”

The two stood for a moment more both in reserved deliberation inside their own heads. The blonde man seemed to come to a decision about something because when he met her eyes again he smiled at his sister in such a chipper way, one she had not seen for god knows how long.

“Alright... I know a place. Let's go!”

…

John had fallen asleep naturally. He was oh so very tired as of late. He was slumped against Harry's left shoulder. They had been watching one of the James Bond movies. John found them comforting and Harry had pretended not to know that it was simply because he and Sherlock had watched them together and had a rather jovial time.

Breathing through his mouth rather than his nose he was making quite a fuss as he slept though Harry didn't really mind. She simply turned up the volume on the television. Sherlock was out and had been for quite some time as far as she could tell. When John and she arrived back at the flat it was quiet and cold meaning he had departed out for someone. Harry didn't really care for figuring out where and neither had John really.

She tried focusing on the movie before her but found her thoughts distracted as her brother slept on.

John loved Sherlock, he truly did. She understood this, he was a brilliant man. He was clever, funny and quite good looking if she did say so herself. However, he was also a git, a mean spirited and selfish man. He seemed only concerned with himself most of the time that, or his work. Why John would put up with him she had no idea. Of course, she wasn't famous for sporting patience or tolerance herself. Her heart clenched at the thought of Clara but she shook her head clear of those thoughts. No need to feel depressed now especially when there was no alcohol in the house.

And most importantly, she was here for her brother despite his unconsciousness. She smiled down at him, movie forgotten in it's entirety.

He really was a nice guy. Sure, they'd had their disagreements before and yes, they didn't see eye to eye on everything. But, she loved him, she truly did. No one would ever come between the two of them. He was family, the only person left in the world for her. She would never let anything come between them.

Rain drops danced across the roof top and echoed off the fire place's chute as John slept on seemingly unaware. Harry checked the time on her watch careful not to wake her brother. 2:23AM. She wondered why exactly the detective was not back yet. Maybe he was truly upset by the events of the day and thus had purposely stayed out to avoid the two of them. Maybe he was at a pub somewhere drowning his sorrows and complaining to a lonely barkeep.

She winced at the way she felt her veins throb at the thought of alcohol. Maybe she really did have a problem as John had been insisted for so many years. She swallowed and tried to focus on the movie once more.

The doctor began to stir however and lifted his head up from her shoulder blade. He wiped vaguely at his mouth with the back of his hand and looked concerned towards her blouse.

“Sorry... “ he mumbled blinking rapidly at her and then bemusedly at the television.

She chuckled at his unawareness and turned in her seat to face him more fully.

“M'goin to bed...” he slurred trying to stand up on his own two feet but failing miserably. He stumbled forward towards the T.V. before righting himself and nodding down towards his sister's face.

“Okay... I guess I'll... just sleep here then.”

John yawned stretching massively before focusing his tired gaze upon her once more. “Sorry... you can sleep in m'bed and I'll just... sleep out here...”

He seemed confused and very out of it as he spoke and Harry couldn't help but chuckle. “No, no. It's fine, John. Just give me a blanket and maybe a pillow or two and I'll sleep out here. No problem whatsoever.”

The blonde nodded in her direction and made his way out towards the stairs returning a minute later with a blanket and pillow for her. He dropped them into her lap before stumbling back towards the stairway sleepily. 

“Goodnight... “ he murmured before making his way up the stairs to his bedroom.

Harry smiled to herself ruefully. John was a good man, indeed.

… 

At precisely 4:03AM Sherlock Holmes quietly and precariously made his way up the stairs and into the sitting room of his flat. He was careful to notice the darkness that surrounded the flat and Harry's unconscious figure on their couch. She was dozing lightly cuddled up beneath a brown blanket. He frowned slightly at the sight of her and then wondered where John had got to. Of course, he was in his own bedroom.

Sherlock stood torn between making his way up the stairs to John's room and simply to making his way to his bedroom.

He opted for the former seeing as the man would be unconscious and quite agreeable to anything the detective might offer. Climbing the stairs one at a time he crept his way silently towards the doorway.


	2. Chapter 2

He crept quietly over to the bed, trying his best not to wake the doctor who was snoring loudly beneath the heavy blankets and sheets. Silently, he removed each of his dress shoes and socks and then his belt. Removing his dress slacks, he hung them lightly on the desk near the window, opting to leave his pants and shirt on. No need to distress the man too much when he inevitably awakens in about an hour. Sherlock took in the sight of the man, fast asleep on the bed. Perhaps, another two hours.

Slipping beneath the covers, he found himself faced with the problem of bed space. John was unconscious, deeply asleep and stretched out exactly in the middle of the mattress. Sherlock bit his lip as he tried to figure out just how to proceed. He began to gently nudge the blond man towards the left side of the bed.

Abruptly, John's snoring came to a halt as he awoke briefly to roll onto his side, facing the opposite wall, his back now to Sherlock. The detective heaved a sigh of relief that he hadn't woken the man and settled in to the warmth of the shared bed. Laying on his back he made himself more comfortable and stretched out. His mind roved over their current situation.

He feared that John's sister dear may be hanging around much longer than he had expected. If only she'd just go out on the lash. The man would forget all about their problems and focus on hers leading to the eventual fight and her screaming and departing figure. Then maybe, things could get back to normal.

How dare she come here and stir up all this confrontation. He and John had been doing just fine, maybe not perfect, not exactly but they were working on things. Sherlock didn't dare presume to know more about relationships than other people, often finding sentiment and things like that rather trivial but he understood John and the way he was. He knew John better than anyone and that included his boozer sister!

His feelings for the man went way beyond any partnership or flatmate relationship. He cared for him and yes, he felt remorse for everything he had put the man through but it had been necessary and he was tired of apologizing for it. Why couldn't John just see? Why couldn't he understand? Everything he did for the man he did out of love.

Perhaps, sneaking into the man's bed once he was sleeping was not the best course of action in the journey to reconciliation but he needed to be near him. He missed him dearly. Despite sharing the same home for the first time in years he still felt very isolated from the man. Things had been icily hostile between them even before Harry's rude, intrusive visit. Surely, things had been made worse by her contempt for him but they weren't entirely her fault.

Sherlock didn't know what to do. He was sure that John still loved him although he couldn't understand why. He was thankful, oh so very thankful though that he did. He'd only been back home for about two months and things still remained strained between them. He racked his brain to think of some way to show John how much he cared. Tomorrow he'd do all he could to show him how much he appreciated him. Maybe a nice dinner at Angelo's might help push the point across. The detective bit his lip as he thought about their last visit to the restaurant. He smiled and glanced down at the man.

Having been away for so long had allowed him to really think about things between them. Confusing emotions had begun to take over his normally rational mind. The longing to be with the man again had spurred him to finish his work quicker than he normally would have. He wanted to return home after being gone for so long. He had missed him. He had realized that the feelings he held for the doctor were more than that of friendship. And, upon seeing him again, he had realized that the feelings he held for John were those of non-platonic love.

Shutting his eyes tiredly, he attempted to try and get some sleep. It was nearing 5 in the AM and soon his dear doctor would be waking up. He didn't want to be awake for that as the man would surely have some choice words for him, finding him in his bed and all. He knew John would need some time still before he would be able to forgive him. They were on their way after two months that is until Harry pulled the man aside to fill his head with lies. No matter, he'd fix things in the morning.

Sherlock began to drift off to sleep as the first few hues of pink and orange morning began sparking along the horizon.


	3. Chapter 3

John's eyes fluttered open, his consciousness alerting him to his surroundings. His bedroom was still a bit dark but he could see the beginnings of a new day peaking out from behind the shade on his window. He shifted slightly as his body began to wake up more and more. Moving to stretch his arms he found there was a heaviness next to him in the bed. Blinking confusedly, he jerked to the left to see just who was occupying his bed space.

Sherlock lay next to him, curled onto his side and snoring gently. He was nearly pressed up against him and still hogging most of the bedclothes. John didn't know whether to be angry or touched at the fact that the detective had climbed into bed with him. He decided to try for indifference but found his heart betraying him and landed more on the side of enamored.

He rolled onto his side facing the dark and curly haired man, deciding to watch him for a while. So many things were running through his mind. Why had Sherlock come back after 3 long years? Surely, it would have just been easier for him to disappear forever, leaving him to believe he were... John stopped himself. He didn't like thinking about that.

He began to wonder why the detective was in his bed. They'd not had a pleasant day yesterday and he'd disappeared completely because of it. Who knows what time the man had returned home? Home. John smiled slightly at the thought. Now he was referring to the flat as “their home” again. The thought warmed his heart a little as he gazed at the peacefully sleeping investigator.

Raising a hand to rub sleepily at his eyes, he then glanced over at the alarm clock on the table. It was almost 6 A.M. No need to dally any longer in bed, no matter how much he wanted to continue watching him sleep. This was silly, best to get up and get the day started.

John slipped quietly out of the bed but paused frowning to himself. He recalled Harry spending the night, hadn't she? Yes, she must be sleeping downstairs on the couch. He cast another look at his friend as he searched for his dressing gown.

He wanted to forgive Sherlock. He wanted what they used to have back and maybe more. Maybe they could have more than that. Biting his lip in rumination, he gently shut his bedroom door behind him and made his way down the stairs.

Harry was still asleep on the sofa as he passed her on the way to the kitchen. He wondered if he should wait to make tea until later in the morning, not wanting to wake his sister so early. She could be a real pill in the morning. And, also in the afternoon, evening and night.

Shrugging to himself he flicked on the kettle to boil and set about collecting a mug and tea bag from the cabinet. As he worked he let his mind wander over his relationship with one Sherlock Holmes.

What exactly was he to the man? His flatmate, sure, or at least he used to be his flatmate. But, no he was almost certain Sherlock would be staying again. Wasn't he? He hadn't just come back to let him know he were still alive simply to set his mind at ease before leaving again. He couldn't, wouldn't do that, would he?

John didn't like the troubling thoughts that were beginning to build in his mind. He tried shaking his head clear of them but found he could not.

He loved the man. He had missed him. He had been through hell and back without him, taking his death much too hard. He had worried many of the people in his life, often refusing to socialize with them any longer or pushing them completely away. He 

Their love was something to aspire to not something to actually accomplish. How did he feel now that he was confronted with this new and improved Sherlock? Well, first of all, he didn't know if it was an improvement over the old Sherlock at all. He knew his thinking had been flawed lately. He was unable to think logically about anything ever since the man's return from the grave. And well, who wouldn't?

John felt that he needed time still to think about everything that was going on. His best friend had returned from the dead and was here in flesh and bone and he just did not know what to do with that knowledge. Sure, he was happy. Sure, it was everything he had ever asked for. But now, faced with reality, he just wasn't sure what the next step in their relationship should be.

Things couldn't go back to the way they had been. Life didn't work that way. Time didn't allow it. So, they must inevitably move forward in some direction. Something must change. And it was that change that John feared.

The kettle clicked off forcing John out of his own head. He finished making a cup of tea for himself just as he heard his sister's stirring in the living room. Best make her a cuppa as well. It may ease her into the early morning rise. At least, it may prevent her from attacking him for making too much noise.

Setting out another mug, John took a few deep breaths to steady his heart rate. What did he want? That was a question that he hadn't given much thought the last few years. Time seemed to stop after Sherlock's disappearance. For a while, he had tried to simply lie to himself about what had happened. He was quickly brought back to reality however when faced with visiting the man's gravestone with Mrs. Hudson. Seeing the shiny black tombstone had sobered him, slapping a bit of sense into him the way only life can.

He shuddered as he thought of the times he visited that gravestone and the very different ways those trips had gone. One time, it had been raining, fitting weather for the emotions running through him that afternoon. Another time, the sun had shone so brightly upon his visit that he could almost picture the whole thing being a sick joke. 

In was mid day, the sun was high in the middle of the deep blue sky and not a cloud could be seen for miles. He could see flowers all around of every color imaginable. They filled the usually lonely cemetery with a sort of cheerful cordiality. A multitude of people had filled the place. This made sense, he had mused at the time, seeing as it was a Sunday.

Not a one had cried though. John had thought it odd at the time, not as though he were one to talk, preferring not to show emotions so readily as other people did.

He remembers thinking, as he stared down at the gleaming tombstone, that he would give just about anything to see the man again. The bright sunshine, the birds singing; all of it seemed to mock him as he stood there feeling so helpless and alone.

“Got anything stronger?”


End file.
